


midnight snack

by bombcollar



Category: Bugsnax (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: Gramble just wants to get some rest but the past comes back to haunt him.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	midnight snack

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written before the reddit AMA revealed Gramble and Wiggle's ages (early 20s and late 30s respectively). as I don't want to imply romance between characters with such a vast age difference, some minor rewrites have been made.

Once the high of their escape from the island had dissipated like so much early morning mist, Gramble was forced to stare one very unpleasant fact in the face: He now had nowhere to go. Returning home was simply not an option, and he didn’t dare impose himself on his friends, who all had their own long and difficult recoveries to look forward to, all the logistical troubles that came with disappearing from the face of the earth for months on end. It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to trouble themselves with him on top of all that.

Eventually Wiggle’s cajoling wore him down. After all, she reasoned, you didn’t have to deal with the difficulty of explaining a new roommate to landlords or family when you lived out of your tour bus. Gramble couldn’t help but see the logic in that.

And so here he was, laying in the bottom bunk of the sleeping section, listening to the wind gust against the window of the empty bunk opposite his own. There wasn’t really much to see, just the lights of a distant gas station, across from the parking lot they were docked in. He can hear Wiggle shifting around above him, muttering in her sleep. Was she as restless as he was, remembering how close they all came to certain doom not 48 hours ago? It's a little distracting, but he prefers it to silence.

He hugs the strawberry pillow in his arms a bit tighter. Wiggle just happened to have it already, collecting dust on a couch. His whole body ached from exhaustion. Could you die from lack of sleep? Surely if you could, he’d have keeled over already. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again, the furious, squirming swarms, burrowing out of the dirt, surging over the ground towards him, new flesh shining in the firelight. As long as he lived, he was sure he’d never forget the gut-punch of betrayal he’d felt when he learned the truth. It was his own fault, though. He’d been too naïve, too willing to trust, too willing to let his own former friends starve because of his selfishness, because he wanted to feel like something, _anything_ , loved him.

Gramble squeezes his eyes shut, little claws digging into the plush skin of the pillow. He really shouldn’t get so worked up about this. Filbo had told him that he’d probably done the right thing. Saved them from earlier snakification. It was a lose-lose situation. It didn’t matter in the end. So why did that guilt still grip his ribs with its icy fingers?

A _clunk_ from near the front of the bus grabs his attention. Gramble wipes his eyes on his sleeve, propping himself up and peering down the narrow hallway. The bus’s sections were arranged in such a way that the door wasn’t visible from his bunk, the sleeping section close to the rear. Maybe the wind had blown some trash against side of the bus. As he listens, there’s another _clunk_ and a quiet scrabbling noise, the _thump_ of the door handle being pulled and snapping back. Gramble’s heart plummets through the floor. “Wiggle,” he whispers. “I think someone’s tryna’ break in.”

There’s no response from the top bunk. Gramble takes a shaky breath, prepared to call her name a little louder, but he falls quiet when he hears the _crunch_ of safety glass breaking and the _squelch_ of something soft and gummy forcing itself through a narrow opening.

Gramble pulls the covers over himself, curling into a ball, well-aware that acting like a frightened pup wasn’t going to save him if his fears turned out to be true. Fears that it had followed them, fears that they’d never be left alone until they finally gave in and became part of the hive that had so ardently tried to get its teeth into them. And why come after him, anyway? Why him, the one who’d defended them, who’d rather starve than harm what he saw as living creatures with life and worth and maybe even the capacity to love. It wasn’t _fair_.

All he can hear is his own trembling breath as he tries to keep quiet, tears welling in his eyes again. Maybe there was nothing there after all. His exhausted mind playing tricks on him, making him hear things, just like it had on the island. He had thought he’d heard voices from the shadowy dunes, muttering indistinct disapprovals in the voices of his parents and siblings. Some nights it had gotten to be too much, and he’d yell at them to shut up until Wiggle or Floofty shouted back for him to be quiet, because some people were trying to sleep.

That was supposed to be all over now. Things didn’t always wrap up all nice and neat like in the movies, but surely they would be better now that they were off the island. Gramble manages to steady his breath and listen again, but he doesn’t hear movement, nobody rifling through the cabinets. Must’ve been something else. Some empty can or trash bag rattling around on the pavement.

He lowers the blanket and sees it standing silently over him.

Button eyes loll and twitch side to side, embedded in imitation meat, its silhouette a crude facsimile of his own. With only the faint streetlight streaming in, he cannot make out its individual components, but he knows it, he knows that sugary, cloying smell. It glistens like a fresh wound, reaching for him, claws grabbing for his face, shoving its fingers past his teeth, trying to wrench his mouth open. He can’t even scream because that would let it in, but the sound forces its way up through his throat anyway, a strangled shriek as he shoves the creature back, kicking it in the chest. When it staggers, that’s when he really screams, scrambling to his feet only to forget he was in a bunk bed and slam his head against the top bunk. Everything goes dark.

When he comes to, Wiggle is crouching next to him, blinking blearily at his terrified face. The reading light above her bunk is on, the snaksquatch is nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” Wiggle asks. “You just started screaming outta nowhere. I thought you were being murdered.”

His head is pounding. Gramble gingerly reaches up to touch it with a wince. “I uh… guess I had a bad dream. Sorry, Wiggle… Prob’ly gonna be a thing with me for a while.”

She nods, making a quiet, sympathetic noise. “Well, we’ll just see about that. Scooch over.” When he groggily obliges, she climbs in next to him, lying down on her side, one arm held out. “Come on, dear. I know you probably heard me me rolling around in my sleep, but I'll try to keep still for you. Okay?”

“…okay,” Gramble repeats, feeling a little sheepish at just how relieved he sounds. Wiggle reaches up to turn the light off as he settles down next to her, her arm draped over him. Maybe he’d get through this night after all. They were all gonna be having nightmares, no reason he couldn’t find ways to handle them. He was here, he was safe, Gramble reminds himself. They were all safe and things were going to be just fine.

He swallows, licks his lips

and tastes sweetness.


End file.
